


no one would know the sound of a ghost

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has barely spoken to his new neighbour since he moved in a few weeks ago, and he’s perfectly fine with that. That is, until Harry turns up at his apartment claiming that he’s being haunted by a poltergeist and seeking Louis' assistance in a paranormal investigation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one would know the sound of a ghost

Louis, so far, has not had much contact with his new neighbour, dubbed currently as ‘Harry from next door’ and that’s exactly how he likes it.

Their current encounters start and end with the following:

1\. Harry moving in just as Louis leaves for work. Headphones in. Minding his own business. His eyes accidentally meet in the lift with who he assumes is the guy moving in from the impractical amounts of boxes he’s holding. Harry says, with too much enthusiasm for nine in the morning, “hi! I’m Harry”. Louis smiles, and doesn’t say anything because he can’t remember how to formulate words.

2\. Later in the same day. Harry still transporting a couple of boxes of things when Louis returns home a few hours later. He actually manages to introduce himself this time. Harry drops one of said boxes on Louis' foot. Great start.

It’s nothing personal to Harry, despite his early morning enthusiasm that one time and the fact that Louis actually yelped quite embarrassingly in a very public hallway when half of Harry’s possessions collided with his toes. Or – that might have a tiny bit to do with it, but truthfully, Louis doesn’t really care for any of his neighbours.

Not because he doesn’t like them, per say. The ‘nothing personal’ title carries on from Harry and is shared between the entirety of his apartment building. The fact is, they’re his neighbours. On principle, no one likes their neighbours. Neighbours are 90% of the time annoying and nosy and invasive. They’re too loud – the guy living in no.196 before Harry was always playing his music at an unforgivable volume for three am, and Louis supposes the mistrust has carried.

Some of his neighbours are sweet, sure. Mrs Anderson opposite says hello with a sweet smile every time she encounters him in the hall or lift. She’s approaching eighty-one, and is under the impression that his name is ‘Dave’, but it’s the thought that counts. Sarah across the hall is very nice, if not… over enthusiastic, and he supposes if she wasn’t his neighbour, she’d be his friend. As it happens, she is his neighbour, and he has to hear her loudly singing when she leaves her flat for work every morning. Nice.

That’s a problem with neighbours: you know bits and pieces about them and their lives and their characters, but not enough to know them as people. You get to know all of their crazy and their ugly when you’re listening to mini soap operas through the thin walls dividing your homes, and you accidentally spy upon their irritating habits, and catch them at bad moments, and see all the sides of a person they wouldn’t reveal to a stranger on the street, by pure accident.

That’s all you see though. Some of them are friendly, and they aren’t shy about it, and waves and smiles and greetings are exchanged in the hallways but you don’t know them well enough to find a redeeming quality for all of the pet peeve criterias they fill.

His neighbours have all kinds of crazy. When Sarah starts laughing she doesn’t stop until she looks as if her lungs are about to rupture, Mrs Anderson dresses like she’s in a time warp from 1988, Joey down the hall collects cactuses in different shapes and sizes, and Louis himself listens to tv shows about zombies on high volume far too often.

He hasn’t had many encounters with Harry yet, but when he does, it’ll top the list so far.

::

It’s a Friday night, and Louis is ready.

He’s had a week of work – gross – and he’s ridiculously tired, but instead of sleeping, Louis has a way better idea. He has a glass of wine already poured into a glass, sitting idly on the coffee table beside a box of chocolates that he was probably supposed to send to his Mum. The Walking Dead is at the ready. Fluffy bed socks are on. Door is locked. Ready.

He sits down, grin on his face, and breathes out a sigh of relaxation.

…Which is precisely when there’s a knock at his door.

Louis groans. Quite loudly. He sort of hopes that they get the message but as the only response is a couple of other rat-a-tat-tat knocks on the door, he supposes not.

He considers ignoring it and pretending he’s not in – but they’ve probably already heard the groan, and the light from the hall is obviously going to travel through the gap underneath the door itself, and he doesn’t know who is there, anyway. It could be Zac Efron, ready to declare his love. It probably isn’t, but it could be.

Louis sighs. An irritated one this time, and it’s not really necessary but it’s kind of for good measure. And then he drags himself up off of the sofa, and feels like he’s pulling dead weight as he slowly, very slowly, makes his way to his front door.

He’s not sure who he’s expecting to find at this hour (it’s only nine in the evening, but whatever, Louis' an old man when it comes to socialisation in the night). It could be Zac Efron. It probably won’t be Zac Efron, but he hopes it is. It could be the boy he got into a fight with in year nine who swore revenge, ready to punch him in the face. Could be his ex girlfriend from two years ago turning up with a baby basket, screaming “it’s yours!” before disappearing into thin air, like in all the movies. He isn’t particularly expecting any of these – probably someone who forgot their key, or someone begging for money who somehow got into the building. Maybe his landlord for a surprise inspection, who knows.

He opens the door, and out of all the ideas that sprang into his mind, and all the logical and rational people it could have been, Louis is not expecting it to be Harry from next door.

“Um,” Harry says. He looks a little like a deer caught in headlights. Maybe he has the wrong address. “Hi.”

Louis stares at him for about ten seconds and then, rather than responding with a traditional greeting, blurts out, “do you have the right address?”

Harry blinks several times. And then he says, “yeah. I mean. I wasn’t looking for anyone else. I’m here because – well, for you.”

Because that doesn’t sound creepy at all. What the fuck. Louis' going to have to rename him Harry from next door to Harry from the wanted serial killers list.

“Right,” Louis says. There’s a short pause. He shifts uncomfortable, and adds, “for, um, any particular reason?”

Please don’t say homicide, Louis thinks.

“This is going to sound kind of crazy, I know-“

Oh God. He’s going to say homicide.

“But I think my flat is haunted?”

There’s another pause. This one stretches out longer, an awkward silence in which Harry hastily shuffles, waiting for a response, and Louis just gapes at him.

“You what?”

“I… think my flat is haunted?” Harry repeats, and okay. Maybe he did hear right, then.

“Um,” Louis says. “Right. That’s. Well. Unusual.”

“I know,” Harry agrees. “But weird things have been happening since I moved in, and. I don’t know. You’re the closest neighbour I have, and sometimes I hear you – accidentally, thin walls, sorry – discussing the existence of aliens on the phone late at night. At least, presumably the phone. Maybe to yourself. Which is fine. But. I just mean, it made me think you might be the most appropriate person to approach here.”

Louis stares at him for a long moment. “You do realise this isn’t like, the ghost busters head quarters or something?”

Harry snorts. “Obviously,” he says. “It’d be a pretty stupid ghost to live right next door to the HQ of its nemesis, after all.”

It’s a kind of funny comment. Louis wants to laugh, but he’s still gaping at Harry, not really sure in any way how to respond to him.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asks. “It’s been a long week, man. I’m not feeling it. Come back on Wednesday, maybe. I can cope with Wednesdays.”

“I’m not joking,” Harry insists, looking a little desperate. “Like. Genuinely. My flat is being haunted. I am being pursued by a poltergeist, I am literally certain of it. And it’s been going on for months, ever since I moved in, and I just ignored it and tried to rationalise it but my Cheerios just got knocked off of the kitchen table for no reason, and they’ve spilled everywhere and I have had enough.”

Louis just says, “why were you eating Cheerios at nine pm?”

Harry shrugs. “Mid-life crisis.”

“You’re not middle aged though.”

“But I will be, some day, and I’m having a crisis about it.”

Same, Louis thinks, nodding. Because he totally relates.

“Same,” he tells Harry from next door. “I feel that.”

“Thanks,” Harry says.

“New question, why were you eating Cheerios, they’re bloody gross.”

“They aren’t, but that’s not the point. I reiterate: I think my flat is being haunted. In fact, scrap that. My flat is being haunted.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees. “Your flat is haunted. What – I mean, I’m not trying to be rude here – but what exactly can I do about that?”

“I need you to help me search for paranormal activity,” Harry admits hastily, and Louis just stares at him. Again.

“Wait,” he says, a few moments later. “You are literally being serious right now.”

“Yep,” Harry sighs. “Completely. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says automatically. Is it? He doesn’t really know. He’s never been asked to hunt for paranormal activity before. Particularly not with someone he has literally spoken to twice. And neither of them were exactly intimate encounters.

“Thanks.”

“Why?”

“Because my flat is being haunted,” Harry says. “Oh, you mean – well. I can’t go alone. Everyone knows you never take on a poltergeist or whatever that is alone. I tried telling my friend, but he thought I was joking. And, um, my other friend recommended psychiatry. So far you’ve only crossed one off the list. So that’s a good sign.”

“Jesus Christ,’” Louis says. He shakes his head in disbelief, and he’s kind of really feeling like he needs to sit down for a bit. Or maybe for the rest of his life. That would work.

“Is that a no?” Harry asks, defeated. All of this staring has given him a good look at Harry from next door. He’s cute, that’s definite. Long curly hair and all. He really is attractive – although most people are, if you haven’t got laid since 1968. Louis may or may not fall into that criteria.

Also, Harry had these big green eyes, hard to say no to. He’s really cute.

Turns out ‘Jesus Christ’ doesn’t mean no after all.

::

Louis does what any good neighbour would do, and allows Harry in, and offers him tea.

“Yes, please,” he says. “My tea always seems to end up going drastically wrong. I blame the ghost.”

“Are you sure you’re not just really bad at making tea?”

“I’ll have you know, I’m an expert,” Harry retorts. “I’d show you, but honestly, I’m too scared of accidentally breaking the mugs. The ghost has made me very superstitious.”

Louis eyes him wearily, thinking, why the fuck did I let this lunatic inside of my flat?

“I’m sure it has,” Louis says. “Can I ask when the supposed haunting began?”

“Right after I moved in.”

“And what exactly were the signs?” he presses, feeling a little too self-important. Louis' enjoying this, though, in spite of the serial killer possibility still being a fairly high risk. He feels like a ghost buster. Maybe this is actually what he was born to do. If, you know, ghosts actually existed. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or ask, and he’s kind of making it up as he goes along – it reminds him of the improvisation exercises they had to do in GCSE drama. A simpler time.

“Well, it’s really cold, for a start…” Harry begins, and Louis can’t help but interject.

“The whole building is,” he tells him. “The heating is kind of shit. Don’t supposed they mentioned it in the sale, though.”

Harry frowns. “Maybe the whole building is haunted,” he says, and Louis doesn’t reply, because if he did he would probably bang his head violently against the table.

“What else?”

“Things keep breaking. I keep dropping everything when I shouldn’t be. Things just fall off the table or out of my hands even when I’ve got a firm grip.”

“That’s called butterfingers,” Louis informs him. He feels that on a pretty deep level. Maybe he isn’t the ghost buster after all. Maybe he’s actually the ghost.

“I still think it’s the ghost,” Harry says defensively. “I was never this bad before!”

“Really?”

Louis' not sure why, but from looking at and talking to Harry, he’s kind of drawn the conclusion he’s the type to break a good few mirrors in his lifetime.

“Well,” Harry says. “I don’t think so.”

Louis sighs. “What else?”

“Weird noises.”

He raises his eyebrow. “As in…?”

“Like. I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “This kind of… groaning sound? But not like, I mean, not in a sexual way. I’m pretty sure I’m not just eavesdropping on someone getting laid by accident. It’s more of a… pained wailing.”

“I see,” Louis says slowly. “And what time would you say this occurs most of all?”

“I don’t know. Like… eleven in the evening until two in the morning, mostly, I’d say?”

Louis coughs. “Right,” he says, and then swiftly moves along onto another question.

Harry does not need to know that the supposed ‘ghost noises’ he’s been hearing every night are actually the sounds of Louis losing at Silent Hill.

::

The last time Louis got invited back to a guy’s flat in the evening was probably over three years ago. Also, it wasn’t to search for paranormal activity and the proof of a poltergeist, so Louis' really not sure whether he’s winning or losing tonight.

“Here it is,” Harry says, opening the door. “I don’t know whether you’ve been in here a lot before, with the old tenant, but. I’ve moved it around a bit.”

“Yeah, no, it looks good,” Louis says. “I like your set up a lot better than Mike’s.”

“Mike?”

“Old tenant,” Louis tells him. “I came over a few times. The place always smelled of fish. It was gross.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Ew,” he says. “Bet you’re glad that he left.”

“Oh, I am,” Louis says. “He was definitely not one of my better neighbours. He’s moved away with his girlfriend now, thank God, though I’m pretty sure they’re only together because she’s a pescatarian.”

“Makes sense,” Harry shrugs. “Did he ever mention anything weird while he was living here?”

“99% of the shit he says was weird,” Louis tells him. “But if you’re talking about in relation to the ghost, then no, he didn’t.”

Harry groans. “Why am I the only one being targeted?”

“Maybe the smell of fish scared him off?” Louis offers helpfully. “Or maybe he was being… haunted, and I just wouldn’t know because he never approached me about it quite as, well, forwardly as you did.”

“I was tired of suffering in silence,” Harry says defensively.

“I’m not hating,” Louis raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Although, there is another option.”

“Which is?”

“He doesn’t exist. The poltergeist, I mean, not you.”

“I mean, that’s a possibility,” Harry muses. “But I still have pretty high confidence in its existence. Do you not believe in ghosts, then?”

“Not really,” Louis admits.

“But you believe in aliens?”

Louis flushes. “That’s a debate for another day. It’s a bigger likelihood. Look at the size of the universe, Harry. You really think this planet is the only one to harbour intelligent life? Harry. Harry, listen. They’re out there.”

Harry stares at him for a few moments. “And you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“…Not really?”

“So you think we just get born out of nowhere and remain on the planet for an unspecified amount of time and then just die? Just like that?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno, but if I were a ghost, I sure as hell wouldn’t be spending my days in the afterlife haunting random apartments.”

Harry considers this. “Me either, but maybe it was resting in peace, but then the previous tenant angered it with the fish, and now it’s out for vengeance.”

“Okay, now that’s something I’d do,” Louis nods. “I agree with the current actions of the ghost.”

Harry frowns at him, and points to the pile of broken ceramic, Cheerios and milk on his kitchen floor.

“Really?” he asks dryly. “I don’t.”

::

“How exactly do we detect paranormal activity anyway?” Louis asks, and Harry, for a moment, looks perplexed.

“Ah,” he says. “That could be an issue. Don’t you need like, all kinds of fancy scientific equipment?”

“This isn’t a science fiction novel, Harry. I’m pretty sure those kinds of tools don’t actually exist.”

“Such a sceptic,” Harry sighs, mournfully. 

“They didn’t need high tech equipment in paranormal activity the movies though,” Louis says, ignoring his previous comment. “You have a video camera?”

“Louis, those movies weren’t real…”

“Obviously,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “But we have to take inspiration from somewhere.”

“True,” Harry admits, and he complies. They set up Harry’s old video camera in the kitchen, where Harry insists most of the ‘incidents’ seem to happen, and wait a while.

“We should search the flat too,” Harry declares. “There might be, you know, weird demonic markings on some of the walls or something, that’d indicate there’s a demon here, right?”

“Or that a previous tenant was into the illuminati,” Louis says. “But sure.”

Louis goes along with it anyway, though he’s not entirely sure why. This is hardly on the top of the list of things he was planning to do tonight, but maybe, on the odd occasion, socialisation with a stranger does end up being better than sitting around watching Netflix and being bitter. Not that Louis would ever admit it.

Also, who knows – maybe the whole ghost buster thing could end up being a pretty good career change. Louis' not really feeling being marketing for the rest of his life. Or for a second more than he has to be. So that could work.

“Hey, Harry,” he calls. “Wanna go into business as professional paranormal activity experts?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “I’ll come up with a theme song. We’ll probably get sued for being crap, though.”

Louis waves him off from the other side of the room. “I’m pretty sure whether or not you have been released from the haunting of a supernatural entity is a matter of opinion, and entirely subjective.”

He turns to look at Harry, who is stood by the wall trying to look behind the photo frames and tiny flower pots (seriously?) for any, like, small 666 signs or something, presumably, and absent-mindedly thinks about how he has great legs.

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” Harry says, turning around, and yeah. Great legs. “But it’s fine. We’ll work with it. You found anything?”

“Nope,” Louis says. “Zilch.”

“Me too,” Harry frowns. “Subtle, ghost, subtle. I’ll give you credit for that. You’ve got moves.”

“It isn’t real,” Louis says. Because probably.

“Or it’s just more subtle than you are,” Harry says, shaking his head. “My legs are great. I’m with you there.”

Louis blushes, and Harry grins.

“Sorry if I-” he starts, but Harry waves him off.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “It’s fine. Also, it’s been ages since we set the camera up, shall we go and check it?”

Louis blinks. “It’s literally been about forty-five minutes. If that.”

“Like I said, it’s been ages.”

::

They turn the footage onto fast forward, and watch for any – Louis doesn’t know what. Demonic figures. Floating plates. Suddenly falling kitchen appliances, or something like that.

Nothing happens, though. It’s a still image of a kitchen (with Harry’s evening-breakfast still spread out, all over the floor, nice) that just happens to be the backdrop for a bit of blur and zoom indications, and a clock showing the time at the bottom.

But nothing happens.

“There!” Harry says. “Louis, go back, I saw something!”

It turns out, all that Harry saw was a bit of dust moving in the corner between the wall and the cupboard.

“You disgust me,” Louis says. “Clean your kitchen. Also, the cereal.”

“I don’t know if I should. Can’t I send stuff like that in to be analysed in labs and stuff? Is that a thing?”

“No,” Louis replies. “Clean it up. I’ve almost slipped on that milk at least three times.”

::

Like a good Samaritan, Louis offers to help clean up the cereal disaster, and promptly slips on the milk.

::

“See,” Harry tells him, holding an ice pack to his head, which he had hit pretty hard on one of his kitchen counters. “I told you weird incidents and disasters kept happening here.”

“I slipped on spilled cereal ingredients,” Louis reminds him. “If you always leave your paranormal encounters left around on the floor like that, no wonder you’re always tripping over.”

Harry frowns. “That’s a fair point,” he says. “I’m still recording some more, though. Just in case.”

“You do that,” Louis says encouragingly. “I’ll just. Be here. Icing.”

“Ah, right,” Harry says, biting his lip. “Sorry about that. Your injury, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” Louis replies. “I mean. I don’t know what I was expecting when I came over here today, but it probably should have been something like this.”

“I… kind of feel like I should be offended right now,” Harry frowns.

“Can you blame me? The first day we met, you dropped a box on my toe,” Louis points out, and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Oh god, I’d forgotten about that! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Louis says quickly. “It’s fine. All is forgiven.”

“Maybe it was the poltergeist?”

Louis groans on impulse. “Please stop,” he says, and when Harry looks at him a little strangely, he feels self-conscious, and asks, “what?”

“Nothing, it’s just…”

“What?”

“You sounded a lot like the ghost noises I hear at night just then.”

Oh, shit.

::

They manage to leave the recording going this time for almost an hour. Key word: almost. They spend the time sat dutifully in Harry’s bedroom, googling things like, “paranormal activity detection”, and “is there a ghost in my house”, and “are ghosts adverse to fish?” on their phones.

It’s been a long time since Louis was in a guy’s bedroom as the clock neared towards midnight. He’s usually wearing a lot less clothes and not researching the likelihood of having a poltergeist in a newly-built block of London flats, but he’s having a pretty good time regardless. Maybe on occasion, the supernatural is better than sex. He considers this, and then decides that probably isn’t true. Maybe they should be combined. Harry is still pretty, after all. Sex and the Supernatural. If the ghost buster business doesn’t work out, at least he has a great name for his future T V show.

“Harry, the flat isn’t haunted,” Louis says, for probably the 59th time. "Nothing I’ve found backs up your idea. And if it did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s the internet. It’s all bullshit.”

“Well someone’s feeling cynical,” Harry says, and Louis couldn’t agree more.

“That’s me,” Louis agrees. “Full time cynic. Non-believer. Para-sceptic.”

“…Who believes in aliens?”

Louis scowls. “We’ve been through this.”

::

They check the tape again, and there’s nothing.

“I told you so,” Louis sings gleefully, and Harry glares at him.

“I don’t like you,” he says. “I’m glad I dropped box on your foot.”

“Hey!”

::

Harry, as a good, courteous neighbour (who is blatantly copying Louis' ideas) offers Louis a cup of tea.

“I thought you said it always goes drastically wrong,” Louis reminds him, wearily.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “But I mean what’s life without a little risk? And it’s not like anyone has ever died.”

“That… doesn’t really reassure me, to be honest.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Live a little.”

Louis laughs, and when Harry gives him a questioning look, he just says, “come on. Isn’t that a little ironic? We’re literally searching for a ghost right now. And you’re telling me to live a little. Jesus Christ.”

“Get out of my house,” Harry says. And then. “Do you think I offended it?”

Louis does accept the tea, though. Mostly because he wants to see how horrifically bad this can go. Also, he’s never been one to turn down free tea. Also, he’s running out of tea bags, and it’s the strategically correct way to go.

Harry takes extra care getting the milk out and boiling the kettle and pouring the water into the tea without accidentally burning half of his skin off. He’s doing quite well, actually, Louis was expecting more disasters by now. He’s pleasantly surprised.

Harry hands Louis his cup of tea with a proud look on his face.

“Didn’t even injure myself,” he beams. “I’m very proud.”

“I’m proud too,” Louis tells him. “Go on. Have your tea. You deserve it.”

“I do,” Harry agrees. His tea is on the counter, cooling down, and Harry glances at it. “I’m the master.”

“You are.”

“I’m glad we can agree.”

“How could I ever disagree?” Louis says. “Come on. High five.”

Harry grins. Louis thinks about kissing him for 0.2 seconds until he promptly rejects the thought. He’s still a stranger, even if they have gone on this ghost hunt together, and discussed business initiative, and he’s really cute. That changes nothing. Obviously.

He raises his hand in waiting.

And then, as Harry reaches up to give him said high five, disaster strikes. To be fair, it was bound to eventually. But as Harry’s hand raises up to meet Louis', his elbow goes flying out in the direction of the counter, and the mug, in the collision, goes flying, and topples off behind Harry’s arm and crashes onto the floor and promptly splits into about ten different pieces as the tea drenches the cupboards, the newly cleaned floor, and Harry’s leg.

“See!” he exclaims. “This is what I mean! Things like this! They happen constantly! I’m cursed, I tell you, what the hell.”

“Harry,” Louis says slowly. “You do realise that you knocked the mug off the counter, right? Not some ghost or invisible being. It was literally you. Hence the tea on your elbow.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I mean, that’s usually what happens, but that doesn’t mean a ghost isn’t here, dictating the events.”

Louis gapes at him. “Oh my god,” he mutters. “Harry! You idiot, you’re not being haunted, you’re just clumsy.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not just clumsiness,” Harry argues weakly, but Louis knows that they both know he’s right. “It happens way too often to be a coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I have a poltergeist.”

“No you don’t. It’s normal. It even has a name.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It’s called really clumsy.”

“Ah,” Harry says. He seems to ponder the thought for a moment. “Maybe I’m not being haunted then.”

“Did you mean, no shit?” Louis says, sarcastically, and Harry laughs.

“Okay, you were right, I suppose,” Harry shrugs. “It was kind of fun though, right? I hope I didn’t waste your evening. To be honest though, I don’t know for sure yet. I’m still not entirely convinced. It could just be hiding from you.”

“Nah, you didn’t. I mean, I had fun,” Louis says. Harry gives him a small smile. Louis realises that the amount of emotion they are lowkey showing is disgusting, and dives into the other topic. “To be honest, you might be right, it could be,” he says, and he nods.

“Or maybe you’re the ghost. And you’ve just dressed yourself up in human form.”

Louis shrugs. He kind of really wants to kiss him, still. He can’t believe he’d spent his whole Friday night searching for a ghost. The things he’ll do for cute people is quite embarrassing. “You have no way of knowing,” he says, egging Harry on.

Harry pokes him in the side. “Hmm,” he says. “Feels real, to be honest.”

Louis gives him an innocent look. “Well, I mean,” he says. “There’s only a few ways to find out. Proper scientists conduct investigations, don’t they?”

“Experiments are very important in any case of paranormal activity,” Harry agrees, a glint in his eye, and a grin on his face. Louis smiles back, too, and Harry’s eyes drop to his lips and linger. Louis may not be quite as subtle as the poltergeist, but at least it’s led him to be able to take a hint.

He leans in quickly, and before he can change his mind he presses a chaste, gentle kiss on Harry’s lips, lasting for a few seconds, before he pulls back, only half an inch, still so close to Harry, and says, “wait, shit. That’s what we were talking about, right? I didn’t get the wrong idea?”

Harry laughs a little. “That’s what we were talking about,” he confirms. “And you had exactly the right idea.”

Louis breathes out a sigh of relief, and Harry pulls him closer and kisses him again, properly this time, slow. And if this is what the ghost chase has been leading up to this whole time then yeah, Louis definitely hasn’t wasted his Friday night. They keep kissing, slow and soft, and Louis can’t help but smile against his lips.

Maybe neighbours aren’t all bad, he thinks.

“Wait,” Harry says, pulling back. “Maybe we should go to your place. You know, just in case the ghost is watching.” There’s a twinkle in his eye, and Louis wants to groan, but he wants to kiss him more and so he does, and again, before he actually answers him.

“Thought I was the ghost,” he says, and Harry shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I think you’re normal. Well, to an extent. You did just assist a near stranger in a hunt for paranormal activity for the past, like, four hours.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Never mind,” he says. “Poltergeist or no poltergeist, I can’t do this here. I’ll be too distracted by the memory of searching for signs of the illuminati.”

Harry laughs, and kisses him again. Says, “yours, then?” and yeah. Louis can work with that.

::

The last time Louis invited a boy back to his apartment past midnight was a while ago, and though it didn’t come after a lengthy search of a non-existent (he hopes) poltergeist and the emergence of a career in ghost busting, he has to admit that he likes the way it went a lot better this time.


End file.
